


For Everything I Have

by SushiOwl



Series: Assorted Scenes [17]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hurt Derek, M/M, Pre-Slash, The Hale Pack - Freeform, Witchcraft, Witches, Wolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-06
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-28 13:50:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SushiOwl/pseuds/SushiOwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pack is kidnapped, and Derek won't stand for that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Everything I Have

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt on Tumblr.

Derek wasn't really one for panicking, but that's exactly what he did when he got home from the store with supplies for the pack meeting to find the floor of his leaving room littered with deep scratches and blood. He'd only stepped out for maybe forty-five minutes because Stiles had been complaining about wanting nachos and Derek had been damn near ready to strangle him. He'd stomped out, telling everyone he'd go get the freaking nachos.

The bag of nacho ingredients dropped from his numb fingers as he took in the scene before him. The furniture was torn apart, the couch upturned and the entertainment system decimated, and there were streaks of still drying blood all over the floor and walls. A quick inhale nearly knocked him on his ass. He could smell all of them: Scott, Allison, Boyd, Erica, Stiles, Isaac, Cora, Peter and even Lydia. Blood of each one of them had been spilled.

So Derek panicked for about sixty seconds, heart beating hard in his chest and breathing going shallow as his vision tunneled. They were gone. They were _dead_. And Derek hadn't been able to protect him. He'd failed. Again.

Then he stood up, anger replacing his panic. Someone had touched his pack, and they were going to pay. He hunted around the room, eyes red as he tried to look for any clues in the drag marks of blood and the clawed floor boards. What he wasn't expecting was to find a folded piece of paper on his book shelf that simply said 'storm drain' in neat black ink that smelled like burning. He let out a surprised noise when the note burst into flames and disintegrated into nothing before it hit the ground.

Derek only knew of one storm drain pipe in the town big enough to house the entire pack, and it was just rubbing salt in the wound that it was a mile into the preserve and practically right next to the ruins of his old house. He headed straight for it, not even thinking to call Chris Argent or even the sheriff. This was his responsibility, and he'd save his pack.

The smell of sewage muddled his senses, and he pulled the sleeve of his Henley over his hand before covering his nose with it. His eyes flashed red, looking for any sigh at all of his pack. When he found them, he was almost struck dumb. They looked fine, and they were just sitting there on either side of the sludge that ran down the middle of the pack. So of course he ran straight at them.

“Derek!” someone cried right before Derek slammed face first into an invisible wall that shocked him and sent him flying back ten feet to land in water and mud and things he didn't want to acknowledge.

“Wow, you are really not the brightest one in the bunch, are you?” came a high voice, bouncing of the walls of the cement pipe.

Derek struggled up, looking around until he saw a form of a woman practically melt out of the wall and solidify. “Who the hell are you?” he growled at her as she walked on air a couple feet above the muck. “And what do you want?”

She grinned at him, a frightening flash of teeth like lightning over her face. “Is this where I monologue and tell me you my life story and all my plans?”

Derek let his fangs descend, baring them as his lips curled back in a snarl.

The witch just rolled her eyes like she was extremely unimpressed. “Fine, you thick headed wolf. I want you, an alpha. And bringing your pack here was the best course of action to draw you out.”

“Why didn't you just come after me alone?” Derek asked her, nails thickening into claws as his face twisted. He was so fucking tired of people using his pack to get to him.

“I wanted you on my turf,” the witched replied with an easy shrug.

“Well, I'm here,” Derek spat at her, his eyes flashing red. “Now what?”

She grinned at him again, putting her hands to her sides as her fingers curled and blackened, sharpening like knives. “I'm going to kill your pack then take you home with me. I'm going to break you and train you.” She drew a long forked tongue across her pale lips. “I've always wanted an attack dog.”

Derek dropped into a defensive stance, roaring, “Over my dead body!”

The witch pursed her lips, before she just shrugged. “Fine, there are other alphas,” she told him, before she swiped her hand in front of herself.

Derek didn't even have time to wonder what she was doing before air sliced across his chest like a blade. His shirt ripped open and blood spurted from split skin, making him stumbled back and try to bring his arms in front of himself. The witch just kept the attacks coming, over and over, cuts appearing all over his body. He couldn't get his feet planted, continuing to be knocked back.

Then he hit the invisible barrier behind him and let out a shout as it electrified him. He tried to push away from it, but the wind cutting into him didn't allow him to get any footing. He could feel his body convulsing, shifting in and out of his feral form, and his blood splashing into the sludge and across the walls. The witch was laughing, high and shrill like this was the most entertainment she'd had this lifetime.

“Derek!” someone cried as his knees began to buckle, and he turned his head as best he could to see his pack all huddled up together. The wolves's eyes were shining. They looked so completely terrified that Derek's spine went rigid. If he died, if he let himself be overcome, then they would be next. He was their only defense.

He turned his eyes back to the witch with a snarl, eyes burning red as he slapped his hands back against the wall and lurched forward. The witched cackled, sending another wind blade that bit into the meat of his shoulder. He staggered, going woozy for a second, before he stepped forward again. Whatever she threw at him, he'd take it. He had to. This was his home, his territory, his pack, and he was going to protect it until he couldn't anymore.

Something primal stirred within him, bringing him down on all fours as his bones shifted and his skin stretched. Fur sprouted along the whole of his body, black and all consuming like a shadow. His mouth stretched and filled with razor sharp teeth, and all of his senses intensified tenfold. He looked up at the witch with burning red eyes set in an angled wolf's skull, and she looked terrified. She lifted her hands, chanting and preparing a spell, but he rushed her, leaping and knocking her right out of the air. Her head cracked with a sickening sound on the cement, and he latched his maw over her throat, digging in and ripping it apart as he wrenched his head back. He kept biting, chewing, wanting to make sure there was nothing there to heal with her otherworldly magic. The blood turned hot and sulfuric in his mouth, and he didn't even have time to move back as her body swelled and exploded into fire.

He was pretty sure he was dead, though if death was just blackness with an annoying beeping sound in the distance, then he wanted to be more dead. The beeping became louder, and he drew his brows together in annoyance, but that action hurt so much and took so much effort that he promptly stopped. Opening his eyes was worse. They watered at the brightness around him. He blinked several times before he swiveled his eyes around slowly. His eyes landed on a heart monitor next to him, which was the source of the beeping.

Curled up in a chair next the monitor was Stiles. He was focusing on his 3DS, from which pixelized dramatic battle music was filtering up. His brow was scrunched, and the tip of his tongue was peeking out of the corner of his mouth. “Oh, c'mon, if I didn't want a Butterfree, I wouldn't even bother with you, you stupid Metapod.” He pressed a couple buttons, before his eyes widened. “I didn't mean that. Don't die on me, buddy!”

“Stiles,” Derek croaked, his throat so dry that it felt like his vocal cords had shriveled up and his mouth was made of sand.

Stiles's head snapped up, and he all but fell out of his chair to come over to Derek, his game forgotten on the chair with the music still playing. “Hey,” he said, lifting his hands as if to touch Derek but not sure where to put them so he dropped them again. “Hey man, you've been out for a week.” Derek tried to say something else, but all that came out was violent dry coughing, which made Stiles jerk into action. 

“Oh, shit, here,” he said as he grabbed a nearby pitcher of water and poured it into a cup. He put a bendy straw in as well, before he cupped the back of Derek's head and lifted it so he could drink. “Slow, easy, dude,” he said as Derek cupped the back of Stiles's hand and started to drink like a man that had just belly crawled his way through a desert. Finally he slowed down and closed his eyes, drinking until the cup was empty. 

Stiles went to fill it again, but Derek shook his head, lying back and swallowing a couple times. A week? He'd been out that long? He could barely remember what happened. There was the storm drain, his pack and— “Fuck,” he hissed, trying to jerk up, but his whole body hurt. Stiles put his hands on his shoulders and managed to push him back down, which was a testament to how weak Derek was feeling. “The pack,” he said, grabbing onto Stiles's sleeve.

“They're okay,” Stiles told him with a little smile. “Everyone's okay.” He gently touched Derek's forehead. “You saved us, Derek.”

Derek's labored breathing slowed, and he sagged into the hospital bed, the tension easing out of his body. Thank all the deities he didn't actually believe in. He'd finally managed to do something right. He turned his eyes to Stiles, releasing his sleeve when he realized he was still holding onto it. “Have you been here the whole time?”

Stiles blinked at him, before color crossed his cheeks. That was curious. “No, it's just—it's my shift to sit with you. The pack has been rotating in and out.”

Derek blinked, unsure why he suddenly felt... disappointed. “Oh.” He took a breath, and he could smell the lingering scents of his pack, all of them. He could even make out the smells of Scott's mom, Chris Argent and the sheriff. It made him relax further.

The corner of Stiles's lips twitched up, and he looked down at Derek's hand, before he slowly wrapped his fingers around it and gave it a squeeze. “I'm so glad you're okay, man,” he said, swallowing thickly.

Derek stared up at him, before he let his lips spread into a smile.

“Now, let's talk about how you turned into a giant black wolf. You've never done _that_ before!”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm weirdly proud of this one.
> 
> I take prompts on Tumblr. If you ever have something for me, [hit me up.](http://jinglejinglesushiowl.tumblr.com/post/60489708862/give-me-tw-prompts)


End file.
